


He Who Rules the Kitchen

by TrippinOverMyFandoms



Series: Fluffy February 2021 [5]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Day Five, Fluff, Fluffy February 2021, M/M, Set somewhere in season 6 ig, Though that’s not really important, cooking together, fluffy february, not exactly canon compliant either
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:20:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29226126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrippinOverMyFandoms/pseuds/TrippinOverMyFandoms
Summary: “It’s gonna burn.” Oliver remarks rather bluntly, like he knows how to cook something over a fire better than Slade.Slade isn’t amused, “You can start having an opinion when you start helping.”“Fine.” Oliver took it as a challenge, of course he would.
Relationships: Oliver Queen/Slade Wilson
Series: Fluffy February 2021 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2141427
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12
Collections: Fluffy February 2021





	He Who Rules the Kitchen

**Author's Note:**

> Haven’t written these two in so long, honestly it was almost like riding a bike. I’ve even got a few prompts lined up for sladiver regarding fluffy February so this isn’t the last work from me with them this month.

“It’s gonna burn.” Oliver had remarked rather bluntly, like he knew how to cook something over a fire better than Slade, blank stare set on the flames, blinking slow and lazy as if he was some sort of expert on roasting meat over a fire and he had been thinking of a million ways he could have done it better. Slade highly doubted if he’d even roasted a hot dog over a fire before then. 

“You can start having an opinion when you start helping.” Slade was the furthest thing from amused as he shifted uncomfortably on the ground and tried to hide how he turned the meat on the makeshift spit, Oliver had been right, it was going to burn, but he wasn’t going to tell him. If he had told him, Oliver would’ve just gotten a big head about it and he wouldn’t have heard the end of it. He had known the kid took small victories like that as encouragement and that he had been succeeding in his survival. However, there were other things for him to be proud of than besting Slade and needing to be right all the damn time. 

“Fine.” And as soon as the singular word had left Oliver’s mouth Slade desperately wished he hadn’t said anything. 

Oliver had taken it as a challenge, because of course he would have. 

From that day forth Oliver decided meals were his job. He stated that maybe he wasn’t a good hunter and maybe he wasn’t a decent fighter but he could cook, it wasn’t hard. In truth, it was one less thing for Slade to do and frighteningly enough he had taken to the task rather easily, maybe Oliver really could do it better than him. Of course, it was still bland. It’s not like basil or parsley grew naturally on the island. Ginger, however, did and Oliver had been too excited to discover it, utilizing it in anyway he possibly could. 

Sometimes Slade was pretty sure Oliver still thought they were on the island. Even if they sat comfortably in an apartment with a locked door, he still jumped when someone knocked. He couldn’t wholly blame him, for some soldiers the fight or flight never went away once it kicked in. Oliver had carried it with him purposefully for so long that he was almost sure he wouldn’t be able to shake it. 

But cooking? Oliver was a genius with spices but even now that the years he was home had surpassed the years he was gone, it still felt like he was compensating for the years he had been without flavor. Slade would never point it out, though, Oliver seemed most himself when he was busy in the kitchen. His mind was solely devoted to his project and he put more work into food than he did on almost anything else. He’s often remarked that maybe he should have been a chef instead of a vigilante or the damn mayor of the city. 

And Slade didn’t mind, he wasn’t a picky man, if anything, Oliver was the picky one. He didn’t mind all the new recipes his lover wanted to try or the times he decided old ones needed new life. It kept things interesting and they were almost never hurting for leftovers. It was just that... Oliver was so damn possessive in the kitchen. 

It wasn’t the kind of possessive where Slade didn’t get his chance to cook for him at all, no, he was free to use the kitchen just as Oliver was. Oliver was possessive in the sense that, if he was cooking than he was cooking. He enjoyed it sure but Heaven forbid Slade decide he was going to come up behind him and wrap his arms around him. Oliver was focused and only east going if he was given his space.

“I’ve got it, you don’t have to help, I can handle it.” By his tone alone Slade knows he’s holding back the snap he’s almost let loose once he spotted Slade sneak into the kitchen to attend to the vegetables on the stove. 

“I have no doubt,” Slade puts his hand up against Oliver’s chest to keep him from intervening, “but we were supposed to do this together, remember?” 

Slade wasn’t good at the romance stuff, except maybe sex and whatever came after that, but sometimes he tried and he especially wanted to get Oliver out of his comfort zone. He was known to bury himself in familiar things when he got stressed and would often turn obsessive and Slade wanted to keep that from happening as far as cooking was concerned. He liked to watch Oliver when he did it and he’d hate to see him in any mood other than something light. His solution had been to try doing it together, Oliver had enthusiastically agreed at first but seems to be second guessing it now.

Oliver closes his eyes and lets out a frustrated sigh, grumbling “Fine,” under his breath, only to turn back around to finish whatever the hell he was doing to the bread. 

In all honesty, Slade zones out while he’s working on the various dishes going on the stove, switching between stirring one and the other while Oliver gets rather quiet behind him. He’s starting to worry that he’s upset him but it doesn’t last long because Oliver appears behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist and stopping just slightly to rest his head on his shoulder. 

“Maybe this isn’t so bad,” Oliver half mutters into his ear. Slade smiles, glad that he’s warming up to sharing, leaning his head back just enough to kiss Oliver’s cheek. “Good,” he tells him, “we can do it more often then.”


End file.
